


Devil Dog(Violent Tendencies Are My Middle Name)

by BearWritesThings (Halaani)



Series: Teufel Hund [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA/Mercenary, Angst, Apology Kitten, Betrayal, Fluff, M/M, Mercenaries, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 23:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halaani/pseuds/BearWritesThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ousted from the Fakehaus Crew, Adam finds himself on a new journey, one he never thought he'd end up on, even when he joined his first gang when he was eighteen. He masks himself behind the name Teufel Hund, the feral and remorseless freelance mercenary, and cuts a bloody swath of death and destruction through Europe and Asia. But fear, respect and a fast bike can only outrun fate for so long, and soon he finds himself back stateside, locked in a struggle of forgiveness or destruction with the Fakehaus Crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil Dog(Violent Tendencies Are My Middle Name)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this monster came from a little prompt fill from a friend over on tumblr. Shiphoose, this is all your fault. Big thanks to them and Rou for suffering my shouting ideas at them at all hours of the day!

_"Get out of here, Kovic," Matt says, voice flat, "Get out of here and never come back."_

 

Adam stood there for a minute after the doors shut, the cold wind slicing through the thin hoodie he was wearing. At his feet was the small backpack Matt had dropped there, and he picked it up with shaking hands. What had happened? What the _fuck_ had actually happened? They'd been doing so well, finally, so why do this now? Why not do this when he was newly captured, when he was just collateral from a takeover of a rival gang. Why not turn him out then? Why would they let him get comfortable with them, get used to working with them, before doing this? To be cruel? Because they could?

Adam whimpered quietly, quickly brushing the tears out of his eyes as he reached into the pocket of his black fatigue pants, hands numb as he pulled out his phone. He thumbed through the numbers there, marking which ones would need to be deleted now that he was ousted, before his fingers hovered over one of them, the name starred. Lance Ursa, a hitman who used to work quite often in the employ of the Lobos Rojas, Adam's old gang. Well, if you could call them that. After all, Adam had been nothing but a glorified guard dog to their leader, a pretty face who just so happened to be good with a shotgun and knife. Lance had done most of his meetings through Adam and they found they liked each other. Lance had offered him aid if he ever wanted to leave them or, if he ever made it out on his own, help staying away from them.

Well, this was as good a reason as any to call on that offer. He tapped the contact and walked a little way down the path, out of eyesight of the Fakehaus' hideout, and then started on his path as the phone rang. "Ursa here. Wondered when I'd get a call from you." Adam let a tiny smile creep onto his face, desperately trying to quash the feelings that Matt's orders of exile had risen in him. Lance sounded as laid back as he remembered, not even remotely bothered that he was being called this late at night.

"I'm calling in that favor Lance. I need a place to hide out for a few days, make a plan." Lance hummed on the other end and there was the sound of someone moving. 

"Thought you were with Fakehaus now?" Adam snorted as he reached the bottom of the hill. His sadness was slowly being replaced with a cold fury he hadn't felt in some years, since shortly before he'd joined Lobos Rojas, when he first picked up a hunting knife to defend himself in the face of a drug dealer who, tweaked on meth, thought Adam was trying to steal his cache. Fuck Fakehaus. Fuck James and Lawrence and Bruce and fuck Matt in particular, the little fucker. If they thought that they could bring him in like that and then drive him away whenever they pleased, well, they were in for one hell of a surprise.

"Not anymore Lance. Not anymore."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Adam sighed heavily as he lay in bed, the skies still dark with night outside of his window. Lance had come to the small town at the base of Mount Chiliad and taken Adam to one of his safe houses, gave him free run of the place after having had one of his lackeys stock the place with food and other essentials. He'd check on Adam every now and then, he said, but he could tell right now what the other man needed was to be left alone. Adam was thankful for the solitude. 

His mind was a jumbled mess, and for the first time in almost five years he had no idea what to do next. The Fakehaus territories were a no go now, and the rest of the city belonged to the FAHC, a crew he didn't want to cross. He could try to get in with one of the minor gangs, but for what? To start on the bottom rung and likely be shot before he could make any real headway in it? So what did that leave him? Civilian life? Freelancer? He had marketable skills, sure, but he knew it was hard for someone to break into that game mainly because they all started as unknowns.

Growling softly he turned himself over, sheets knotting his legs even as anger flared through him again. Fuck Matt and stupid decision! Now he was at a loss for how to go on. Sighing again he untangled himself and climbed out of bed, not bothering with clothes as he stalked to the kitchen, where he made himself a pot of coffee and started bacon and eggs. One thing could be said about Lance's lackeys, they had good taste.

Freelancer was going to be his best choice, honestly. Civilian life wasn't something beyond a pipe dream at this point. He was too rough, too wild to go and get a 9-5 behind a desk and try and live among normal people again, even at the tender age of twenty-three and a half. His fingers would always itch for a knife, his eyes would always be looking for a fight. No, that wasn't an option for him, not anymore. 

But where to make his break? His best bet would have been here in Los Santos, where some remembered him from his stint in Lobos Rojas and he had a little clout to get a start before he moved on. But with the city essentially untouchable to him, that option was nil. Liberty City was another one, but Rooster Teeth had an iron grip on it and it would be nearly impossible to gain a foothold there. The other cities like New York and LA would be mistakes as well. His only real option would be to leave the country completely, head over to Europe where there was no shortage of a need for freelance work. If it gave him distance from Los Santos and all of the memories attached to it for a while, well, there was nothing wrong with that.

There was a lot that was going to need to be done, though. He'd have to liquidate his accounts, the secret ones filled with the money he'd been siphoning from Lobos Rojas since he got pulled in, because after all who was going to suspect the pretty-faced bodyguard? He'd have to clear most, if not all of his safe houses and see which, if any of her personal contacts would be willing to work with him if he moved or if he ever came back. 

Groaning at the amount of work that needed to be done, he pulled a piece of paper and a pen from the table over to him, placidly sipping from his coffee as his breakfast cooked. Nothing was going to get done if he just sat there, now was it?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

All in all it had only taken him two weeks to get everything ready to go in the end. He'd drained his accounts and sent everything to a swiss account that Lance helped him establish, the weapons and other things smuggled over to the penthouse he'd purchased in Berlin, the area that was to be his base of operations. Lance put him in touch with a fixer there, a man who owed Lance quite a few favors and, in payment for some of them, would help Adam get his first contracts and put him in touch with other people who would be useful to him.

Most of his contacts in Los Santos were only too happy to continue working with him long distance, a testament that, despite his occasional outbursts of homicidal rage, treating his contacts well while he was in Lobos Rojas and then keeping the lines of communication open when he was with Fakehaus had paid off. Two of them had even been planning on heading over to Europe anyway, something about fertile hunting grounds, and went in advance of Adam to get an information network started. The more and more he did, the easier it seemed like it was going to be to get going when he got to Germany. There was only one last thing he needed to do. Closure, for lack of a better term.

When he'd transitioned from unwilling captive to willing crew member, James and Bruce had gifted him with a pendant, the black and orange Fakehaus logo, on a link chain. He'd worn it proudly while he was running with them and the night Matt had sent him away he'd torn it off, leaving it in the bottom of the bag, some little part of him hoping he'd get to wear it again. But that wasn't going to happen and he needed a clean break before he left. So, the night before he was due to get on the plane to Berlin, to his new life, he rode out to Mount Chiliad on his bike, to the hideout where this whole thing had started. He parked the bike and strode over to stand in front of the house and he dropped the few gifts he still had on the ground. The leather jacket from Matt, the crew's pendant, a stuffed cat from Joel and Spoole. He knew they were on the deck, at the windows, watching him, but he didn't take off his helmet, didn't bother to look at them.

Instead he uncapped a bottle of scotch, a gift from Lawrence after his first successful heist as a crew member, poured it over the items and dropped the bottle. From his jacket he pulled out a lighter, flicked it on and dropped it to the ground. Flames leapt up from the pile in a roar and Adam sighed behind his helmet. He was...a mix of things. He was sad, to be closing this chapter of his life, because he'd liked these guys, but they didn't want him around anymore for whatever reason. Excited, because this was the last thing he needed to do. And relief, because now there was no more bonds holding him here, no more need to remember the good times and the bad times he had in Los Santos, with the Fakehaus Crew.

Content, he mounted his bike, revved the engine, and roared away in a cloud of dust. He was free, for the first time in a long time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first few months in Europe were some of the worst when it came to his work. Sure, his penthouse was nice enough and he had his selection of guns and weapons and poisons and he even paid to have his bike shipped over, but the work was terrible. No one took him seriously. His contacts and Fixers brought him anything they could grab and Adam found himself doing menial tasks, like drug runs, security work and tails. The pay was pretty shitty, he hated who he had to work with and the number of injuries he'd come home at the end of the night with went up exponentially. Mainly because the other operators didn't seem to know what they were doing. A bunch of wet-behind-the-ears twenty year olds new into the game and desperate for something, anything, to keep them from starving.

So Adam played smart. The ones with the best potential he poached, brought them in and gave them jobs, gave them security. He only nabbed three, the brightest three he worked with in six months. A young hacker who wore beanies and scarves and had a tongue as sharp as her wit. One a tall, older fellow with impeccable people skills that Adam convinced Cory, his Fixer, to take on and teach the ways of the game, and a young man, fresh from high school, who had astounding first aid skills and simply couldn't afford school. Adam put him into nursing school and the younger man vowed his services if Adam ever had need of them.

And then his big break came. Cory came to him, frowning deeply but holding a thick file in hand. "I don't like it." He opened with, and Adam laughed, one of the few happy sounds he made nowadays. 

"Well, that's a ringing endorsement." He chortled, accepting the file. He flipped it open and paged through it, grunting as he looked over the pictures. Guards, traps, security systems. Well then. "Suicide mission, then?" He asked, spreading the pictures to get a proper look at the whole layout of the thing. 

"Suicide mission." Cory agreed, pulling a chair out to sit across from his boss. "It's the only reason they would offer such a massive price tag for what would normally be an easy assassination job. They think anyone who takes the mission will die, and they won't have to pay up if, miracle of miracles, they manage to pull it off." Cory got up again and went over to the perpetually filled coffee pot, pouring two mugs and doctoring it the way they both liked it. The original plan had been for Cory to stay on for a few months, but Adam was shaping up to be a proper good man to work for and he and Lance had struck a deal. Cory would serve Adam and his debt to Lance would be erased. It helped that Adam paid him for all good information he brought in, and paid him well.

Adam took the cup from him thankfully, already scratching out a rough plan on the notepad that he kept on the table. He worked for a while, tossing aside plan after plan before, six hours after Cory had come in, he sat back, looking pleased with himself. "Have Patrick call Striker, I'm going to need some bombs and Ella should start worming into the building's systems tonight. Call these guys, tell 'em I'll take it and have it done in two week's time. I'll call my dealer and have them rush the mods for my Mossberg and you can call Leo and tell him to be ready and here on Saturday night. Just in case."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Adam stared at the building, grimacing darkly. The job was done, but he was in rough shape for it. His TAC suit was ruined, burnt and shredded and his left arm hung uselessly at his side. His Mossberg was slung across his back and he clutched one of his knives in his right hand, even as several others could be found in the room around him, some buried in his victims, others lying on the ground where they'd been pulled out or glanced off of them. He could see why this was labeled a suicide mission, and if it hadn't been for the sulphur bombs and Ella's excellent hacking into the systems, he'd be dead on the ground with the others. Groaning he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the leader, dead at his desk and sent the message off to his employers. He tapped his headset as he waited for confirmation, and Cory's voice filled his ear.

"You're alive, eh?" Adam choked out an off-sounding laugh, good arm coming up to wrap around his chest. Fuck if he didn't hurt.

"Yeah, you aren't free of me yet. Send Patrick up with Willy to clean the place out. I'm going to go and have Leo look me over." There was crackling on the other end before he received a confirmation and Adam quickly grabbed up his knives, nausea rushing through him when the knives made wretched noises leaving the bodies of his victims. That was… unpleasant, to say the least, and he was sure he would never get used to it.

After gathering his leftover equipment he trudged down the stairs and out into the cool night air. He'd come here in a car, deciding to leave his bike parked in the garage back at the penthouse, and it was a good thing. He could drive a car one handed, but he was sure he wouldn't be able to drive his bike. 

As he loaded his trunk he waved listlessly to Patrick, his "junior fixer", and Willy as they headed into the building, empty duffle bags with them. Willy was a safecracker who hailed from Ireland and swore his allegiance to no man or crew, instead opting to go where the money was best. Adam had offered him ten percent off the top of whatever was recovered from the building and another three percent from what his employers owed him. Well, if they paid up without a struggle. If Adam had to go in there and get his money himself, he'd take a lot more than the nine million for the wipeout job.

He drove home slowly, making sure to avoid lights and breaking any traffic laws so he could get back to his building without trouble. By the time he pulled into the underground parking garage of the building he was five seconds from just curling up in his bed and disregarding the fact that he needed medical attention. He was saved from his own stupidity by Leo opening his door and shepherding him upstairs, taking his Mossberg and knives from him and leaving them in a bloody pile on the counter before leading him down to one of the spare rooms. Adam had bought out the top two floors of this building, and the second half of the top floor was a converted medical suite. (It had been a pain to get shady enough contractors to outfit the place, and Leo had come with it since Marko was still in university.) 

"Hold still, I need to get your vest off." Adam allowed himself to be moved and shifted around as Leo peeled off his kevlar and then his TAC suit, leaving him standing there in his boxers. "Up on the table, Adam." Leo was soft of voice but firm in his direction and Adam hopped up onto the table with his good arm while Leo pulled on purple gloves. Leo's hands were sure as he checked Adam over and then he stepped back. "I'm going to call Marko. I'm going to need help setting your shoulder. Otherwise you're remarkably unharmed. A few cracked ribs I'll have to wrap up and some cuts that need to be cleaned and covered, but I don't see any internal bleeding on first review, and you don't seem to have a concussion, but I'll keep you in here overnight anyway." 

Adam merely favored the man with a bored grunt before his phone beeped. Leo's face scrunched, he didn't like it when they used phones in the suite, but the man seemed to know it was important because he gave him the phone with no fuss before going over to the wall phone to call Marko. Adam slid his phone awake and grinned. A notice from his swiss account and an email. He tapped open the email and laughed, even as he clutched his ribs in pained surprise. It was a disposable email, but one he recognized by now. _"Interesting work, Kovic. I'm very pleased, even if we expected you to fail. I've already wired your payment to your specified account and included a bonus for the… entertainment. We'll be in touch in the future."_

He laughed for a few minutes, the sound bordering on hysterical before he righted himself, feeling lighter for the release of emotion even as his ribs ached horribly for his actions. That was certainly one way to make his breakthrough.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After his first big job in Berlin, Adam's name seemed to spread far and wide. He found himself with a lot of jobs suddenly, of all sorts and urgencies and payouts. Assassinations, high profile guard jobs, kidnappings, information gathering, even art and bank heists on rare occasions. You name it, he had a hand in it. First in Berlin, then in further reaches of Germany and then all across Europe and into Asia. He was lauded for his enthusiasm, his ruthless execution and his ingenuity in getting jobs done. They liked his "no fucks" attitude and absolute lack of scruples. On more than one occasion had he been asked to make something purposefully more horrible, to make an example of someone, and he'd done it with a finesse that had his employers drooling and their victims and enemies cringing in despair. And with this renown, with this fear and respect, came a name.

Teufel Hund. _Devil Dog._

He scorned the name at first - after all, did he really need to be called by a flashy name? But the name seemed to come with its own bonuses. Teufel Hund became a cloak, a mask, a headspace that he could slip in and out of and he could use to his advantage. It protected him, hid his emotions and at the same time offered him a release he might not have otherwise received. Out on a job he could be Teufel Hund, the assassin with no morales and a sick sense of humor while at home he could just be Adam, the dorky guy who played too much Destiny, liked to bake and helped little old ladies across the street when he was out shopping.

With his new name came new dangers. Other mercenaries were furious that he had begun to edge into their marks, onto the high paying jobs, and more than once he'd fended off an attempt on his life, his holdings and the lives of the few people he'd brought in close to him. He responded to each attempt with vicious glee, fighting back with equal or greater fury, maiming subordinates and burning buildings down to foundations and ashes. Eventually, all but the boldest or dumbest decided it was better to let sleeping devil dogs lie, as it were, and Adam found that a vast majority of the attempts stopped outright.

He didn't hold many people in high confidence anymore, too afraid to let anyone get so close to him again and have a repeat of what happened back in Los Santos, but a few had managed to worm their way past the mask to find _Adam_ and he was surprised to find that he didn't mind overly much. Cory was the first, the man having gone from on-loan man to full time Fixer to confidante. He waltzed in and out of Adam's home with the key he'd been given, making himself at home and greeting Adam like some deranged tea-making puppy whenever the younger man trudged in from a job. Ella and Patrick came together it seemed, having fallen in love while in his employ oddly enough, and situated themselves firmly after Adam had woken himself, screaming one night, muzzy from painkillers and sedatives after a job gone wrong ended with him having a new scar on his chin and a hole in his leg. He'd been plagued with nightmares of that single stupid night nearly a year ago, when Matt had driven him away, and he'd been shaking, hands fumbling for the knife he kept under his pillow.

They hadn't said much, calmed him down with soft words and warm touches, undaunted in the face of his uncoordinated swings of half-baked anger, until at last he'd fallen back asleep. When he was mobile again after a few days, he wordlessly placed two small wrapped boxes in front of them and watched with masked glee as they opened them to reveal keys to the half of the upper level that was his personal suite. They'd pounced him with hugs, mindful of his injuries, and thanked him before Adam had sent them away, a tiny smile just barely on his face.

Leo and Marko came hand in hand as well, mainly because Leo had taken Marko under his wing. They'd seen him at his best and his worst, coming back from jobs both unscathed and covered in scratches and full of holes. There was no real moment where they made themselves part of Adam's circle, it was almost like they'd always been there, and instead he was merely struck one day by the fact that he knew he'd raze anyone to the ground who dared harm them.

With his new renown came the ability and the need to take on multiple jobs at once, some of them smaller in nature. He wanted to keep his clients satisfied on the smaller jobs while his attention was held by the larger ones and that meant hiring new operators. In the end he went back to a few of the people he'd worked with in the very beginning and tested them, hoping to see improvement. In the end, only two passed his high standards, a retired pair of ex-Navy SEALs turned guns-for-hire named Sal and Clayton. They happily signed on, and Adam's inner circle grew by two more. 

They weren't a crew, that they all agreed on soon after the fifteen month mark and they were all officially brought together under Adam, under the revered Teufel Hund. Soon they too had a name: the Stolz Mitglieder. Pride Members. They laughed at first, much as their boss had, but they soon saw the benefits of being known as such. It lent them weight in their own fields and when they went as messengers on behalf of their boss, it offered them a measure of protection, as any who may have sought to harm them previously knew what would be waiting for them should they act in haste.

Life was good. They had their pick of the bunch for jobs, no one went wanting for anything and their boss was benevolent, even if underneath his kind dorky exterior lurked an alpha predator of great violence. They never suffered what Adam had. He never took a whip to them, never raised his voice in anger and they never found their pay mysteriously docked, their part of a haul suddenly tapped for "expenses". They felt great loyalty to Adam and he to them, and for the first time in countless years, even more so than his happy times with Fakehaus back in Los Santos, Adam felt happy, felt good about where he was in his life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Adam liked working with certain clients more than he did others. That was a simple fact all mercenaries lived with in their line of work, and it proved no less true for him. For Adam, the Mafia and the Yakuza were, funnily enough, his favorite clients. For the Yakuza, they still held the Japanese beliefs of honor and integrity, and for the Mafia, their word was as good as their bond. If they promised he would be paid a certain amount for a job, then that amount was delivered without fuss on the job's completion. If they said he'd get a bonus for completing some objective or another, than that bonus was there too. He almost never minded disarming for meetings and he even developed a fair report with many of the high-ranking members, garnering favors and promises of aid and good times.

The Spaniards and the Greeks were another favorite of his and his operators. They liked to woo them with wine and good food and excellent music before and after a job, firmly of the mindset that a happy mercenary was a successful mercenary. Adam never complained and instead gave some of his absolute best work in return for their hospitality. He could even claim a sort of friendship with most of the crews and gangs there. (He would always remember the time he, Sal and a Greek crew member had heisted a priceless roman artifact from a local museum and left a crude dick statue in its place with great fondness.)

He hated working for the Russians and the Chinese, and he wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole if they didn't pay so well. More than one time he'd take a job from them merely because the cash was too much to pass up. When that was the case he tried to handle all of his communications via secure email or over the telephone, anything to avoid having to talk to them face to face.

However, it seemed that, for all of his effort to hide behind his new reputation, there was still some of that gentleness in him. On the very few trips he made into the Middle East, he almost always ended up doing jobs to wipe out looters and bandits to make life easier for the small villages he came across. On more than one occasion it was less him lending his gun and more lending his hands, herding goats and helping with a harvest. One trip to Africa he found himself doling out his rations and hauling water to and fro. Wherever he went, Adam found himself helping people, though he couldn't place why.

Adam didn't believe in god, in a higher power, but sometimes things happened to him in the field that left him staggering, wondering. Bullets narrowly dodged that should have killed him, last minute deflections of knives and other pointed instruments that would have scarred him horribly and other such things left him uncertain. One of those events was how he met Tug. He'd been on an assassination in Croatia, but his information had been shitty because of course the one time he decided it was okay to rely on his employer's’ informants was the one time the information was wrong. 

They'd gotten him with a slug in the side and he could feel the blood, wet and tacky as it slid down his stomach and hip and further down his leg. He'd been desperate for a place to hide and he ducked into the first abandoned building he'd found. He pushed back further until he found a nook and he slid down, clutching his side uselessly. He needed to use the quikclot in his vest. but that stuff fucking hurt, and there was no way to be quiet while he did it. He could improvise a gag, but he didn't have anything besides two of his favorite ka-bar tanto. Caught up in pain and thought, he didn't realize he'd been followed until cold metal pressed to his head. Fuck. He moved to turn towards his assailant, but the gunner jabbed his head viciously, muttering in angry Croatian. Fuck, three years in Europe, twenty-six years on this earth and he was gonna die in a fucking run down trash heap in Croatia. Fuck him.

He sucked in a pained breath and prepared for the bullet to his skull. And then a miracle happened. His savior came from the left, a massive bundle of snarling fur and flashing teeth and Adam watched with horrified fascination as a dog (or was it a small, fanged horse?) went after his assailant with vicious enthusiasm, barking and howling a war cry. It sank its teeth into the gunman's arm, shaking his head to and fro until the man dropped the gun and fled, screaming and clutching his bleeding, mangled arm. The dog chased him for a bit before padding back to Adam, all the ferocity gone from him and he lay next to him, tail thumping softly as he nosed at Adam's wound and whined softly. Adam hesitantly set his hand on the dog's head, scratching a few times. 

"Thanks, bud. Good boy." The dog seemed pleased and continued to lay next to Adam as the other man unstrapped his ka-bar tanto, sheath and all, and bit into the leather, shaky fingers pulling out the packet of quick clot. He opened it and shoved the powder into his wound, screaming through his teeth around the gag as the wound burned but, thankfully, stopped bleeding. He whimpered a few times and the dog set his head on his knee, looking mournful as Adam restrapped his ka-bar and called for backup. 

Sal, Clayton, Marko and Leo were there fifteen minutes later with a litter and some supplies, and Adam drifted in and out as Marko and Leo worked over him, stabilizing his wound while Sal and Clayton cleared their way out of the building. He knew he was going to end up in the hospital, one of those funded and run by criminal enterprise to be sure, but an actual hospital nonetheless, so when Sal came back with Clayton in tow he motioned them over, pulling off the oxygen mask even as Leo fussed over him.

"Take… the dog… back to… base. Saved… me." He huffed out before Leo forcibly put the mask back on him, scolding him. Sal looked unsure at the large dog, but one glare from Adam, weak as it was, silenced him and Sal called the dog over. The big dog went easily enough and, satisfied his savior would be taken care of until he was released from the hospital and returned home, Adam drifted into unconsciousness.

It took a week for Adam to be released from the private hospital and Cory came to pick him up before driving him home. Adam moved gingerly, still sore from the stitches that were essentially holding his side together. He was greeted warmly by the rest of his friends, because that's what they were to him now, he could admit that, and he was pleased to see that his furry savior was looking better already. Adam could vaguely remember that the creature had been dirty and ragged, bone-thin and covered in his own wounds. A stray, abandoned by whoever had owned him. He'd been bathed and bandaged and obviously fed and he greeted Adam with a happy bark and a wagging tail. He had cropped ears, a wrinkly face and black and white short fur. His shoulder came to Adam's hip and he must have been some five feet long from nose to tail tip. The dog was never far from him and seemed to want nothing more than to help him while he recovered. The original plan had been to shop around to see if someone wanted to adopt him after he was better and back on his own feet but somehow, like the people in his life, the dog wormed his way into Adam’s heart.

In the end, Adam gave over, ignoring the knowing looks of his friends, and officially adopted the dog and named him Tug, mainly because he had a habit of tugging his blanket around the penthouse. Or Adam's boxers when he was feeling frisky, because his dog was a punk. The vet he chose had been able to identify Tug as a Bully Kutta, a Pakistani Mastiff, and so Adam had learned Pakistani commands just to train him. Tug accompanied him on some missions, like bodyguarding and a few of the hunting missions he went on. Otherwise, Tug was just the smiling, happy dog who met him at the door every night, who went on runs with him and who let Adam fully relax. He was there for nightmares and celebrations and successes and failures.

Three more years passed for Adam and his ilk. Three successful years where they amassed a small fortune. Adam bought out more of the building, filled the garage with nice cars and bikes and his armory was full of guns and knives for him and his people. He raised their pay substantially and even hired a few more operators, though none of them grew nearly as close to them as the others. They strengthened their bonds with their favored clients and continued to rise in the esteem of the European and Asian underground, and they were feared and respected. Adam's twenty-ninth birthday came and went and his life took another turn, because fate seemingly couldn't leave him alone.

They were taking a break in front of a new job that was coming up and they needed a few days to relax beforehand. Tug was downstairs with Cory and Adam was dead to the world until shortly after midnight. He jolted awake with a snarl when he felt light pressure on his bed, hand shooting under his pillow for his ka-bar tanto. There was someone in his room, someone unknown. His instincts were screaming and he had his would-be assailant off of the bed and pinned against the wall in all of ten seconds, knife pressed into their jugular. Small, short, purple hair and glasses. A woman, vaguely recognizable for some reason. Why was this person here? He asked as much aloud, ready to shove his knife forward in an instant. 

One delicate hand came up to wrap around his wrist, squeezing firmly but not harshly. "I have a message for you, from Rooster Teeth." Adam stepped back swiftly. Fuck, he knew she looked familiar.

"Meg Turney, ‘Human Resources’ for Rooster Teeth, and not too shabby with a .9mil either." He didn't want to get close now. Rooster Teeth was still a crew he didn't want to cross, even with his new power. He had no pull in the states, everywhere else yeah, but not in the states. The big cities were all controlled by Rooster Teeth, FAHC and a few other powerhouses. A message though, from this crew, could mean so many things and if they'd wanted him dead they would have sent their star sniper Heyman or one of the many others who could have ended his life without him having a chance. He sighed, not sheathing his knife but relaxing his stance, going for openness but not subservience. He rose to his full height. "Want some coffee?"

Cold businesswoman disappeared in a flash, replaced with a bright grin. "Sure!" Adam rolled his eyes a little, used to manic mood swings and dangerous people becoming seemingly harmless in a blink by now, and lead her into the kitchen where he started a pot of coffee and got out two mugs, some cream and the sugar.

"So what brings a Rooster Teeth member all the way to Berlin? Surely I'm not interesting enough to garner that kind of attention." He gruffed out a few minutes later when the coffee had been poured and both were sitting at the table in the kitchen. Meg hummed and sighed as she sipped her coffee, staring at him from behind the rim of her mug. 

"Actually, you are." She set the mug down and rested her chin in her hand, smiling in a manner that put Adam in the mind of a lazy wolf. "We've been watching you for some time. The infamous Teufel Hund and his Stolz Mitglieder. Your names are all over the underground the world over, even in the states. Everyone speaks very highly of you, even the ones who have worked with you only once or twice." She trailed off and Adam could sense he wasn't going to like where this went next. 

"Of course, very few of them know how you got your start. Drafted into Lobos Rojas, a small gang with drug ties, against your will at eighteen, you worked for them until just before your twenty-third birthday. You were captured by members of the Fakehaus crew and, in some way no one but yourselves are sure of, you wormed your way into their crew until you left for reasons unknown about a year later. You came here to Germany for a fresh start, and for the past six years you've done quite well."

"You're very well-informed." He gritted out, his whole body gone tense. None of his contacts in Europe or Asia knew Adam's past, and his friends only knew because they'd found out when he was drunk enough to let something slip - or from witnessing the nightmares. "But what does any of that have to do with the fact that you're in my apartment in another country? I don't operate in the states and neither do my people." His voice was firm as he set his coffee cup down, staring back at Meg boldly.

Her eyes gleamed but she continued to smile. "You don't now, but we'd like you to." Adam frowned as she pulled an envelope from her back pocket and slid it across to him. "Rooster Teeth has recently acquired a very large contract that requires a small force with a broad range of skills. While some of our own people will be taking part, we've begun to recruit outside of our normal grounds." She was all business now and Adam was at attention. This kind of cooperation was almost unheard of in their line of work. 

"You come with us to Liberty City for six months, you work the jobs. You bring you and your people, we pay top of the line and you have control over how you do the jobs." Adam whistled as he read the contract that had been in the envelope. It was good money, sure, but it was too close to Los Santos for his taste. Luckily, he had an excuse.

"Unfortunately, my people and I have work that needs to be done here." Meg smirked at him and Adam felt his confidence leave him as she hefted a bag that had been hidden, opening it and upending it to allow three heads to roll out, along with six files wrapped in plastic and a lockbox. Fear lanced through him as he stared at the items, even as Meg smiled at him. These were all of their current jobs, finished. How had they discovered the jobs, all the info, and finished them without Ella and his other informants finding out?

"Luckily for you, we know that jobs can be hard to wrap up quickly, so we've done that for you. We expect an answer soon, Teufel Hund."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the end, the silent threat of Rooster Teeth putting pressure on them - even from the states - was too much to ignore, and the money was good enough to lessen that sting so that they didn't mind as much. The word went out that Teufel Hund was out on contract for a while and they packed up the penthouse and the rest of the building. It took two weeks to move all of the weapons and cars and Adam's bike. Tug had to be shipped separately because several airlines refused to let him ride in the cargo hold, and Adam left two of his informants in Germany to keep tabs on the grand network he'd made for himself there.

And they left, left what they'd been used to for six years and got on a Rooster Teeth jet bound for Liberty City. Liberty City was so markedly different from Berlin that for the first few nights, Adam couldn't sleep. The highrise Rooster Teeth had put them up in was downtown, deep down in the noise of the city. Eventually he settled, just a few days before his first meeting at the Rooster Teeth crew's base. The meeting where his life began to snowball, though Adam wouldn't know how much it would effect him until far down the road.

At the meeting, he met the rest of the small strike team Rooster Teeth had set up. Joel Heyman, the deadly sniper. Ashley Jenkins, excellent hacker and information-gatherer. Adam Ellis, explosives expert. There was, of course, Adam and his lot. And then there was Jeremy Dooley, the wheelman, speed freak, street racer from FAHC. Adam had been loathe to go anywhere near the shorter man after he'd realized who he was. He'd been face-to-face with members of the FAHC only once, and that one time had ended with Vagabond pinning Adam's hand to a wall with a long knife when he was twenty-two. The scar in his palm still burned when it was cold and sometimes his hand ached horribly for it. It was a reminder that no matter how good he got, there was someone who was better than him. 

So of course, one of the first missions Rooster Teeth sent them on ended up with him trapped in a car with Jeremy for almost twenty hours, casing a place Adam and the others were going to heist in a week. The first five hours were tense and awkward, with no conversation passing between them. Adam kept his distance as best he could in the backseat, goggles lit as he watched the rotating guard patterns and the like. But Jeremy just had this… aura about him. He kept smiling, kept trying to strike up conversation despite that fact that Adam shut him down with a combination of wordless grunts and his ‘epic resting bitch face’, as Cory liked to call it. But he kept on, and eventually Adam started answering in one-worded responses, and then short sentences. Then Jeremy brought up video games, and cats, and he complimented Tug and his bike and Adam was sold. 

It was hard to ignore a conversation when it was about things you liked, and he was a sucker for compliments about his dog and his bike. He left that job feeling a little better about working with the FAHC member, and Jeremy seemed to worm his way into Adam's life in the same fashion as the others had in the past six years, slowly but surely. It started with lunches and drinks after jobs and slowly evolved into Jeremy peeking into the highrise once or twice a week just because he could, usually looking to join in on games or watching movies. No one mentioned the addition to their lives, though on more than one occasion he could have sworn that they would smile smugly at him when he greeted the other man with enthusiasm.

By the time the fourth month rolled around it was totally common for someone to see them together, discussing mods for weapons or Jeremy showing Adam his way around dismantling a car or for Adam to be teaching Jeremy how to handle knives. They sparred together, worked together, and Jeremy also got along quite well with the rest of Adam's people, as good as one of his own. And then to celebrate six month finally being done and successful, the entire force went out to drink. And drink they did. The night was a blur of body shots, flaming drinks and fist fights for Adam and when he woke up in the morning it took him a minute to realize he wasn't in the highrise. Blinking, he turned onto his side and came face to face with Jeremy. "Oh, fuck me." He hissed, hands flying down to his hips. Pants still on. Okay, that was good. God, don't get him wrong. Jeremy was a very handsome man with an excellent personality, and Adam found him attractive. Very attractive.

But it would never work. In a few days Adam and his people were packing up to go back to Berlin, and Jeremy was going to go back to Los Santos eventually. How unfair was it, that he should get a taste of something so wonderful, to have that chance to be happy again, and circumstances would tear them apart? Ignoring the start of water in his eyes he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Jeremy's shoulder, and the other man rolled over, smiling sleepily. He seemed to recognize Adam's somber mood and his smile fell away, replaced by resigned acceptance as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Adam. 

"I thought..." He trailed off and Adam pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss.

"God, Jeremy, I want to like you have no idea. But I'm going back to Berlin in two days, and you're going back to Los Santos. I can't go back to Los Santos, Jeremy." He nuzzled the other man's cheek. "I would love nothing more than to try it, to try and make this work. We've only known each other for six months, but in our field that might as well be a lifetime. But the distance..." Jeremy nodded sadly and moved to roll out of bed, but Adam grasped his wrist and pulled him back gently. 

"Just let me hold you a bit longer. Just let me have this...before we have to leave." Jeremy settled against Adam's broader chest and Adam wrapped him close, relishing this final moment he was going to have with the other. In a few hours he'd have to disentangle himself from this warmth, leave the other man behind and go back to his own highrise to pack but, for now, just this moment, he had this. 

He had Jeremy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Going back to Berlin ended up being about half as happy as Adam hoped. Don't get him wrong, he was glad to be home in the building they'd bought and built up, but damn it if he wasn't mad about his lost opportunity with Jeremy. Jeremy had it all, and Adam actually felt comfortable about opening up to the other man after he'd settled himself in Adam's rotation. The others noted a marked change in Adam's behavior upon their return to Berlin. He was restless, more prone to feral outbursts during assignments, and more violent. He wasn't as affectionate as he'd been beforehand, which was already a rare thing for him, and he stopped opening up unless he was drunk. He was withdrawn and sullen, and no one was really happy about it. Least of all Adam. 

Despite his new downturn in attitude, his work didn't suffer. In fact, many of his clients seemed pleased with his new, more violent approach to his job. They resumed raking in the cash and their renown grew again, with a new fear and respect behind them as Rooster Teeth added their voice to the praise as well. Professionally, their lives were great. Personally, they swore they were trapped in an actual soap opera.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Across the world, there was another crew in a different predicament. Geoff sighed as he shifted through the the papers and plans again. There was no way they'd be able to pull this plan off, not with this many people. With Ray gone and Jeremy still contracted out to Rooster Teeth they were down quite a good chunk of their combat members. Matt, Kdin and Caleb weren't fighters, and Lindsay was still out with that gunshot wound from their last battle with Fakehaus. They were down to five specialized people and Fakehaus was getting cocky. They needed people, but who? No one was dumb enough to get between the standing powerhouse and the up and comers, and so they were hoping to outsource. He looked up as Matt and Ryan entered the room, the hacker holding a picture in his hands and the large assassin looking pensive. 

"Got someone for you, boss. He should work perfectly." Geoff accepted the picture from the younger man and looked it over, even as Ryan began to speak from behind him. "Adam Kovic, a.k.a. Teufel Hund, based out of Germany right now. You might recognize him, though. It was a while back, when we went to go and have that… talk with Antonio Ramirez, from Lobos Rojas." Geoff grunted, sleepy eyes widening a little. The kid did look familiar. Back then he'd had no beard and looked wide eyed. He'd fought with admirable ferocity to protect Antonio, going so far as to put stinging shot in the hides of both Michael and Gavin before Ryan had pinned his hand to a wall with one of his knives and held him there. They'd kept an eye on him for a while after that, interested to see what happened. He'd been a part of Fakehaus for a while and then, suddenly, disappeared.

Only to turn up in Germany a year later, in the company of a very select few people, with just his bike and his Mossberg shotgun. His reputation had grown and, for a time they'd decided to let sleeping dogs lie. The younger man obviously had no more ties to Fakehaus, had no desire to return to the states. Then Jeremy had reported back that the guy had shown up in Liberty City, contracted in by Rooster Teeth for six months. Geoff had tried not to read too much into the misery he'd heard in the other man's voice when, six months later, he called to inform them that Teufel Hund had returned to the European nations to resume his stead there. But Geoff wasn't dumb. He knew Jeremy, knew the two of them had probably gotten attached despite better judgement while they were working together.

"Would he even be willing to come out here?" He asked, setting aside the picture. Ryan shrugged broad shoulders and sat on the opposite side of the table, fingers steepled. It was an odd look, but at least the man wasn't wearing his mask or face paint in the house anymore.

"Offer a good enough incentive, enough money and a chance to get back at Fakehaus, and my money says he'll be over on a plane before the ink dries on the contract. There'll be no love lost if you set him on them." Geoff mulled over his friend's words before he nodded, a plan already forming in his mind and a sly smile crawling onto his face. 

"I know just who to send."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jeremy bounced lightly on his toes, fingering the packet Geoff had sent with him. He'd been… surprised, to say the least, when Geoff had called him three days before his one year contract at Rooster Teeth was up. Instead of coming straight home to Los Santos, he was going to offer a deal to Teufel Hund in Berlin. Geoff's voice had been amused and knowing, but Jeremy didn't care that his boss was having a bit of fun at his expense. He got to see Adam again! Six months after their unwilling split and he got to see the man who still haunted his dreams. Now though he was waiting to meet up with Cory, the Fixer that had taken Geoff's meeting request, in front of a bar in downtown Berlin. 

Shortly after he arrived, a sleek Rolls Royce pulled up and the tinted window dropped, allowing an older man with salt and pepper hair and sharp green eyes to lean out. "Dooley?" Jeremy nodded. "Throw your bag in the back and hop in the passenger seat. I don't want to get caught in traffic after the game's down and it's a bit of a drive to base." Jeremy did as he was told, tossing his bag in the back seat and sliding into the soft leather interior. Cory pulled away from the curb and seamlessly into traffic. The first part of the ride was silent until they pulled into a quieter part of the city, leaving downtown.

"You left him in a bit of a state, y'know?" Jeremy startled a bit and turned to where the other man was sitting. Cory continued on as if Jeremy hadn't done anything. "We had to get him roaring drunk on russian vodka to get him to tell us anything. It's the saddest I've seen him in seven years. So before you offer him that deal, before you get down to business, you're gonna hug him and hold him for a bit, and then you're going to tell him that we're all ready to go to Los Santos on his word." Jeremy just gaped as Cory continued on again, like an unstoppable mother hen. "I'm sure Rooster Teeth was only too glad to give your boss their dossier on my boss, so you know why he doesn't trust very easy, why you'll have no trouble getting him on this job. But I just want to tell you something."

He slammed the brakes and whipped around, sinking a knife into Jeremy's shirt at the shoulder and pinning him to the seat. The message was clear. Hurt Adam, get hurt. He nodded his head and Cory gave him a blinding smile and removed the knife, pulling into traffic again. The rest of the drive was pleasant enough until they got to the very edges of the unofficial shipping district and pulled up in front of a newer building. They got out and Jeremy grabbed his bag, following the other man into the elevator and up to the top floor. Up there was a carpeted hallway and Cory lead him to a blue door before he opened it and leaned in, ushering Jeremy in front of him. "Oh, Adam! Your nine o'clock is here!" He chortled.

"I hate you!" A familiar voice called from down the hall and Cory gave him a thumbs up before leaving, shutting the door behind him. Jeremy stood awkwardly until Adam came padding barefoot down the hall wearing nothing but jeans and a loose t-shirt, stopping in the middle of the hall, awe and shock on his face. "Jeremy..." He gruffed out and then they were both moving, locked in a hug there in the kitchen of Adam's penthouse. "God, what are you doing here? I mean, I'm happy, yeah, but why?" 

Jeremy laughed a little and buried his face in Adam's chest. It was like being in a cliché chick flick in that moment, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Being there in Adam's arms felt right. "Who the fuck cares? I don't want to move right now." 

Adam laughed, the sound high and joyful. Right then, he could only agree.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A few days later and Adam lay in bed contentedly, running his fingers idly through Jeremy's hair where the other's head rested on his chest. He was still mulling over the deal Jeremy had brought on behalf of his boss. It was tempting, god was it tempting. Go to Los Santos, fuck up Fakehaus' shit and, if he pulled through his end of the bargain not only would he get paid handsomely, _very handsomely_ , but they would set up a long-term alliance contract and Jeremy would come back to Germany with Adam when it was all said and done as a permanent contact. It was win/win for him really, but he'd tried to push it the littlest bit. He'd agreed to sign with the aforementioned bonuses, so long as if FAHC decided that annihilation was the end game instead of forcing a nonaggression agreement, then he wanted the killing blow on Matt. Or, preferably, time alone with the other man in a locked room with a couple of his knives.

Ramsey had agreed and Adam felt anticipation and excitement warring through him. This was going to be different than what they were used to. They were used to assassinations, robberies, the occasional wipeout jobs for small gangs, kidnappings. This was going to be essentially high-tech gang warfare. Destroying buildings, tearing down information networks, disrupting their trade in weapons and drugs. He sighed again and pressed a kiss into Jeremy's hair and wriggled out from underneath him, shushing him when he groaned and turned a little. He left a note on the pillow, pulled on his cotton lounge pants and padded into the kitchen. He turned on the coffee pot and shot a text off to the rest of his people to meet him on the third level in the planning room in fifteen minutes. Everyone slept in the building now, usually going to one of the safe houses if they needed time away from everyone for a night or two. It was an informal meeting, so he just pulled on one of his thinnest, rattiest hoodies over his bare chest, zipping it up halfway. He grabbed his coffee, made it up the way he liked it and slipped out of the penthouse and into the elevator down to the third floor.

Most of them were already there when he wandered in, in similar states of dress and stages of caffeination, gathered around the lit up display table. That thing had been worth the million bucks it cost to put in with its touch sensitivity and drawing capabilities, and with the ability to pull up dozens of display pictures at one time it was perfect for planning. The last to join them were a sleepy Ella and Patrick in matching elk pajamas and clutching green coffee cups, which earned them some playful teasing as everyone gathered round the display. Adam tapped open a few things and then threw up an aerial map of Los Santos, drawing an orange line dividing one fourth of the city from the rest, with a few lines radiating out. Within the divided section he drew a big FH and over the rest of the city he drew FAHC in green.

"Los Santos, one of the biggest cities in the states. Mostly controlled by the Fake AH Crew, who are surprisingly well-liked by the city. However, for the past eight years or so there's been an up and coming gang called Fakehaus. As you know by now, I don't like Fakehaus. We have history, and it's not a fun one." His voice was dark with anger, and no one dared to say a word while he sipped his coffee and took a deep breath to reign himself back in. It wouldn't do him any good to lose control over the emotions that he'd gotten control off after so much work. Not now, not when things were doing so well.

"Lately, Fakehaus is getting bold. They're making forays in Fake AH Crew's - we'll just call them the Crew from now on - territories. They've knocked off dealers, informants and even destroyed a few stash houses. As you can guess, this has made Ramsey a very unhappy man. I've been in contact with a Crew messenge-" There was loud giggling and Adam smirked as they joked at his expense before he resumed speaking. "Ramsey has offered us a great contract in return for our aid." He drew a number with six zeros on the end, enjoying the gasps of shock when he scribbled an ‘each’ beneath it. 

"Two million per job, each. And when our overseas contract ends with them, he's written in a subclause where we'll set up an alliance contract. We'll come home, get a member on loan and we offer each other help on an as-needed basis. This gives us pull in the states as well." There was pleased murmuring around him. 

"We're due to fly out in a week. If someone doesn't want to come with, then speak now because once we're over there, we're there until we're done." No one spoke or raised a hand and Adam gave them a smile of pride and affection. These people who had come to him in the aftermath of that night six years ago, had worked their way past his defenses and settled themselves into his orbit, into his life, were his life now. If he could take them into a civilian life with him, he would. He'd raze ground and ruin lives to keep them safe. And now? Now they were headed to battle on a scale only others like them could comprehend.

Adam couldn't wait.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Los Santos was hot, sunny, and loud. Adam's bike roared as he shot down the street, following the cars that contained his people and their guide, Jeremy. Apparently Geoff wanted them to be comfortable while they were there and had gotten them a ‘signing bonus’, as he called it. A building downtown, a couple stories high that Adam already had a plan for, and a house on the far side of FAHC's territories for Adam, since they knew he wasn't thrilled to be back in the city. 

He whistled as they pulled up, grinning as he pulled down the black bandana from over his nose, smiling as he kicked his brake down and walked forward. It was huge, a sprawling, rustic-looking log cabin with excellent stonework. Tug streaked out from the car as the others climbed out, voicing their own appreciation, and Jeremy wandered over to lean against him. 

"Your guys were very helpful in getting this thing bought. Told us what you liked." Adam smirked as they all blushed and looked away. They were trying to make this work, trying to give him the closure he'd been denied beforehand, trying to make his stay tolerable. Adam laced his fingers with Jeremy, reveling in the ease of their affection, and walked inside the house.

It was warm and homey, done in maple and blue-gray stone with towering windows and lots of natural light. The furniture was hand carved, the wood underfoot smooth like silk and the kitchen was astonishing in its own right. There was an office, a pool out back and the master bedroom was sinful: a sprawling king bed on a hand carved frame with silk linens, a fireplace and a fur rug on either side. "I like it." His voice was a purr, mind flashing with images of Jeremy sprawled out on the bed, basking in the sun by the pool and so many other things. Geoff had outdone himself, and this was a place where he wouldn't mind staying at all when he was around. 

Geoff gave them a few days to unpack and familiarise themselves with their new running grounds, and then they were on the job. They started slow, trying not to make too big of a splash until they were positioned in a way that would give them the advantage on the main push. Adam was gleeful as he threatened and maimed dealers and transporters and drivers and informants, wielding his knives, name and shotgun with terrifying efficiency. Ella enjoyed tearing apart the fringes of their information network and laid the groundwork for later, working in tandem with FAHC's own hacker Matt Bragg. Sal and Clayton waited in the wings with Patrick and Cory until the main push, though sometimes they went out with Adam and lent a hand.

And then, three weeks after they arrived, Geoff called Adam to the main base one late afternoon. Adam suited up and hopped on his bike, riding down to the docks and then wandering inside. Vagabond gave him space as he opened the door, likely on the orders of his boss in deference to their unhappy past, and Adam gave him a stiff nod before he stalked to Geoff's office, situating his Mossberg more comfortably on his back. 

"Teufel Hund," Geoff greeted him warmly, and Adam spared him a smile. He and Geoff had hit it off nearly instantly. Adam looked up to the man who'd made an empire from nothing, and Geoff admired the man who rose from the ashes to become one of the most feared and respected mercenaries in Europe and Asia.

"Boss Ramsey," he greeted back, smirking when the other man made a face. He'd demanded they call him Geoff, everyone who worked with him did, but Adam had taken to jokingly calling him Boss Ramsey because it irked the other man. He accepted a whiskey and came to sit across from Geoff over his ornate desk, accepting the file that was slid over to him. Inside was a picture of a younger man, with long black hair and blue eyes. The file was labeled ‘Jon Risinger’ and there was a red mark inside, the word ‘Acquire’ written under it.

"This is Jon Risinger, a reporter for the local newspaper. For a time, he wrote pieces about us. Complimentary ones, anyway. Recently he seems to have had a change of heart and has stopped answering our calls. That just won't do." Adam grunted, already going over a rough plan in his head. "Something caused him to change tracks, and I want to know what. You bring him to me, alive, so we can get this sorted out. I want it done tonight. We're going to need positive press coverage leading into our final move against Fakehaus and I want to tie up any… loose ends, as it were." 

Adam nodded his head and rose to his feet, with an assurance that he'd be back shortly after midnight. He'd have to stop by the building downtown, get a sedative from Leo's shop and some other equipment, and he'd have to take his car tonight, but honestly with all of the information they'd given him this was a pretty cut and dry job. He swung by the building to pick up his kit and switch out vehicles before he drove to the marked address from the file. Most of the apartment complex was dark, being later in the evening, and Adam slipped inside easily, light on his feet from years of practice. Risinger's apartment was on the lower level and he slid to his knees in front of unit 15, slipping out his lockpick set. He kept a keen ear out, but soon the door was swinging open and he was prowling into the dark apartment. The place itself was nice enough, if on the smaller side. No lights on, but he could hear soft breathing from a room nearby that he assumed was the bedroom. 

He unsheathed his knife, the black blade glinting ominously in the street lights and nudged the door open. There was a form in the bed, taller than he expected but thin as a rail, long hair splayed on the pillow. Definitely his target. He paused, whole body going tense there at the edge of the bed. And he pounced. Risinger screamed before he could get his hand over his mouth, but Adam quickly silenced him with his hand and the sharp of his knife pressed into the soft flesh of his throat. 

"Shh-shh-shh. None of that now," he growled, and Risinger fell limp underneath him, chest fluttering as his eyes looked up at him, wide with terror. "My boss wants a word, so we can do this the easy way, where I get up and you follow me down to the car without a peep. Or we can do this the hard way where I take strips out of your skin to give my dog. So what's it gonna be?"

From behind his hand came the muffled sounds of him agreeing to the first option and Adam patted his head with his free hand. "Good boy. Smart boy," he cooed condescendingly, before carefully moving himself up and away, keeping the knife within easy jabbing distance as Risinger climbed out of bed, keeping his arms out to show his compliance. Carefully, slowly, they left the building until they were standing in front of Adam's open trunk. "You might want to brace yourself." He chirped and, amidst his captive's confusion he jabbed the needle of sedative into his shoulder and depressed the plunger, sharply pushing so the other man fell into his trunk in a heap and closing the door. A fast-acting sedative that would keep him quiet until Adam got them to the meeting place.

The drive over was pleasant despite the fact that he was on the job, and when he pulled up Michael was there to meet him, grinning at the other man. "Fast. Boss likes that." They exchanged high fives and Adam got their captive out of the trunk, slinging him over his shoulder with a grunt, following the man inside. It was an old airplane hangar a ways out from the city in neutral lands, and inside was a high-backed wooden chair and a softer-looking chair which was already occupied by Geoff. Adam slumped the other man in the high backed chair, secured him with the proffered zipties and then stalked to stand in the shadows behind Geoff's chair. 

Geoff had to admire the other man. The way the shadows played on his face, the way the light brought an almost savage light to his eyes. Coupled with his body, coiled in readiness and the way he turned slightly towards his boss, his stance screaming attentiveness and, dare he say it, obedience, it made him feel like a devil, guarded by one of the hounds of hell in all of their horrible glory. Well, he supposed the man got his name somehow. "Excellent work, Adam. I think a bonus is in order, for your timely execution." He praised, interest flickering in him when Adam seemed to puff up the tiniest bit. Oh, well that was interesting indeed.

"You're too kind, Boss Ramsey." Geoff laughed a little as Adam deflected beneath his words. It was obvious he wasn't used to being on the receiving end of praise. He'd have to fix that. He motioned with his hand and one of the low-level administrative members rushed to bring Adam a bottle of water and a tumbler of scotch. Adam thanked him, drinking calmly as he waited in his spot for Risinger to awaken so the interrogation could get underway. Geoff made another note in his ever-growing mental file of Adam. Even under that wild and ruthless exterior, the man had manners, treated those beneath him with respect. An excellent quality, and something that made him all the more intriguing.

Geoff, Adam, and Michael made small talk for another twenty minutes before a soft groan filled the room and they resumed their positions. Geoff lounged in his chair, Adam settled behind him and Michael standing a few feet behind Risinger as the man came to. He seemed to realize he was in deep trouble pretty quickly as his head whipped up to face Geoff when the man rose from his chair to slink forward, a contained danger.

"Jon, Jon, Jon," he clucked, crossing his arms and looking deeply annoyed. "We had a deal, Risinger. You keep up our positive press, we don't replace you and everyone in your department slowly and painfully." 

"I know, I know, but I swear I didn't have a choice!"

Geoff clicked his tongue. "There's always a choice, Risinger! It's been three months since this shit started. No notes, no texts, nothing explaining your… behavior. I only let it go so long because I was hoping you'd come to your senses and we'd get to avoid having this conversation." He lashed out and gripped Risinger's chin tightly.

"You have exactly three seconds to explain yourself before I let Teufel Hund have his fun," he snapped, and the man's eyes whipped to where Adam leaned out of the shadows, feral grin on his face. He'd heard rumors of course, of the near-fabled European mercenary who was cutting his way through Europe and Asia in a blaze of bloody glory, but he didn't know that man was operating on American soil.

"Okay, okay!" He cried, and Adam slunk back into the shadows to pay close attention to what was being said. "A few months ago, I saw my editor meeting with some guys after hours. They were giving him a bag and then they left. Next thing I knew he was telling me if I kept up any kind of positive coverage for a ‘bunch of lowlife scoundrels’, I'd lose my job and have a bigger problem than the unemployment office."

Geoff frowned. "You get a look at them?" He asked, motioning behind his back for Adam to come a little closer. A new light had entered the younger man's eyes, something wild and dangerous. Risinger nodded furiously, trying to shrink away as Adam's looming frame appeared behind Geoff.

"A - a short guy, kinda curly brown hair and a really tall guy with blonde hair." Geoff turned towards Adam, who was frowning.

"Peake and Willems," Adam gruffed out and Geoff patted his shoulder before pushing him back to the shadows. So Fakehaus had been trying to strip them of their positive coverage in the face of their dispute. Smart, he would grant them, but now Geoff would counteract it. The final push was coming, and Geoff couldn't wait to unleash hell on those upstarts who thought they were good enough to edge in on him and his.

And lurking behind him was the ultimate weapon of their downfall, engineered by their own stupidity.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Adam had a day job. He'd had one in Germany and he had one here. The lower floor of their downtown building had been a cafe and Lindsay had put them in contact with an industrial outfitter to get everything switched from cafe to bakery. They all worked there, Adam and all of his people, and in the first two months of their time in Los Santos, Sharp Sugar Bakery became a roaring success.

They all enjoyed their time there, it kept them busy. Adam liked it because he liked to bake, and Jeremy and the rest of FAHC liked to visit for the food. Adam had briefly thought that it was odd that Jeremy and Geoff always came in together, making sure that he knew how much they enjoyed his food or his coffee or his service, depending on whatever he was doing that day. It never failed to brighten his day and he looked forward to their visits above all others.

The only unfortunate thing was people from Adam's past started showing up in the shop. Old informants, old members of Lobos Rojas and even members of Fakehaus from his short time there. Very quickly house rules were established to make life easier as they started filtering in as part of their clientele. One, the agreed-upon story was that Adam had amnesia and didn't remember anything from after his eighteenth birthday. Two, not to treat them any differently to avoid problems. And three, don't draw attention to themselves. The Bakery was their getaway, their release from their work.

Of course, all of his rules were going to be quickly put to the test when, a month after the bakery opened, Sean Poole walked in the front door and Adam was working the front counter. The minute he saw the smaller man he schooled his features into gentle obliviousness, shoving down his anger the best he could. He could tell the moment the younger man realized who he was. 

"Adam!" He called out and Adam looked up at him directly, affecting confusion and surprise. Why did the smaller man look so happy to see him? He was one of the ones to send him away in the first place, so why exhibit joy now?

"Can I help you, sir?" He asked, his voice soft and the other man looked stunned for a moment. 

"It's me, Spoole!" He said, leaning close over the counter and Adam flinched back a little. This was wrong, he didn't get this.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't say I know you." He tried to deflect. The smaller man looked devastated for a minute before he seemed to gather himself together, ordering a dozen of their muffins and some coffee. Adam bustled about getting these ready, playing the attentive worker, sharply aware that his eyes never left him. He gave over the baked goods and the coffee and directed the man down to where Ella was working the register, laughing at Adam.

He flipped her off discreetly underneath the counter which only seemed to make it worse for her as she took Spoole’s money, and then doubled over laughing after he'd left the shop. Of course, his luck just seemed to dry up after that because, much to the amusement of his own people and the Crew's amusement, the main six members suddenly became frequent customers to the shop and Adam found himself having to affect an air of weakness in their presence almost constantly.

The more they came in, everyone of them but Matt seemingly joyful and surprised at his reappearance, the angrier Adam became. They sent him away! Why were they so fucking happy he was back? He didn't get it, and seeing them all again, having them try to reconnect with him stoked his rage something terrible until almost every night he was at Geoff's office, asking for some kind of job, ripping through informants and buildings with glee and then climbing into bed with Jeremy and Tug. It seemed to be his only release, and the others grew more worried as he became tenser and tenser.

Until, at last, Geoff put out the alert. It was time. With the hard work of his own Crew and Adam and his people, they'd boxed Fakehaus into a corner. Two nights before the attack he put out the order for everyone to prepare, and Adam and Jeremy spent the following day sharpening knives and making sure their guns were ready. Adam fitted his Mossberg with a few final modifications and Jeremy fire-tested the new assault rifle he'd chosen from one of the jobs to knock out a Fakehaus weapons cache. At six o’clock on the night of the attack, Adam peeled away from the house on his bike with a roar, adrenaline already pushing through him. He was wearing the vest with the ceramic plates this time, for extra protection, and the black bandana that Jeremy had bought him when Tug had eaten his old one. He was ready to do this, to have this chapter closed. 

Behind him, Jeremy's car thundered, the engine purring as they streaked down the road in the dying light, heading towards the meet-up point. There they found Geoff, Michael and all of the others, including many of the lower level members, locked and loaded and ready to go. Adam accepted the earpiece Ella gave him and slipped it in, running through checks even as Matt kitted Jeremy in the same way. 

Geoff circled them up and spread a map out in the rickety table they were using, the area of the Fakehaus safe house circled in bright orange. He ran through the plan one final time and then Kdin passed out goggles and smoke bombs and everyone moved off on foot for the final two miles. Full dark had long since fallen by the time they were all in position and Adam held his excitement in as best as he could, crouched on the cool metal of the fire escape.

Geoff's voice crackled over the line, giving the go, and Adam smashed the window in front of him, dropping in his smoke bomb and then yanking down his goggles. His bandana would protect his nose just fine, and after thirteen seconds he heaved himself up and into the building. The next ten minutes were simply flashes of gunfire, the warmth of blood spilling over his hand as he buried his knives in the bodies of the guards, the deep rattle of his Mossberg a low punctuation to the mayhem they were causing.

He rose to his full height, his section of the building's third floor cleared, and tapped his earpiece. "Teufel Hund here. Sector Kilo cleared," he gruffed out, leaning down to pull out his knives while he waited for the response. Instead of an affirmative answer, Matt's voice came over the line, voice tight with tension.

 _"Teufel Hund, head to sector Lima and help Lil' J. There's more people there than we thought."_ Adam tensed. Lima was Jeremy's sector. Grabbing his last knife, he ran down the hall and listened for the sounds of fighting, aiming his shotgun and dropping people with ease. Jeremy was nowhere to be found. So he started kicking down doors until he came to the large double door of what probably used to be a conference room, back when the building was used by an old telephone company. He kicked it down, eyes scanning the room.

There at the back was Jeremy tussling violently with the form of Matt Peake, bleeding heavily from a wound on his shoulder and from his gut. Peake had hurt Jeremy. Peake had tried to kill him. Peake was going to die, regardless of what Geoff's orders were. With an inarticulate roar of fury he darted forward, tackling the man off of Jeremy so that they crashed into the back wall with a terrible sound, frames falling down upon them and showering them in glinting razor shards.

They locked in their fight, pulling no punches, Adam growling abuse as he used his greater height and weight to gain an advantage until he could pin the man beneath him, broad gloved hands wrapping tightly around Peake's throat, reveling in the light of panic that came to his eyes. He pressed harshly, wanting nothing more than to feel the give of flesh and bone underneath his grip, even as Peake's hands came up to grasp weakly at his arms, mouthing his name desperately. 

"Adam. Adam you need to stop okay?" That was Jeremy's voice, Jeremy's soft hand on the back of his neck, squeezing and pulling gently and Adam disengaged, his anger draining away in the face of his lover's gentle commands. Peake lay limp on the ground, curled in on himself and clutching his neck. He turned to look at Jeremy, taking in the way his left arm still bled sluggishly, but he'd already begun first aid for his side, pressing clotting pads against the wound there. 

"Boss wants them alive, remember?" He cajoled and Adam simply grunted, fingers twitching. Jeremy smirked a little and patted his face gently. "I'm fine, you're fine and everyone is waiting for us downstairs. You want to grab him?" Adam grunted again and planted his boot in Peake's face, dazing him before he grabbed the zip ties out of his vest, tying his wrists together before slinging him over his shoulder.

"My face hurts," he whined, and Jeremy laughed as the rage drained out of the mercenary. The taller man followed him down the stairs, and Jeremy took catalogue of the injuries. He'd been sliced in the gut and nicked in the arm, but Adam's nose was bent, undoubtedly broken, and there were deep cuts on his jaw and cheek which would almost certainly scar. He moved gingerly and his left leg bowed out a little, probably from his fight with Peake.

Needless to say, they took the old elevator down.

In the main area below, the old lobby they guessed, the conquering force waited. Most were uninjured, though there were a few in similar states to them. All the surviving members of Fakehaus were bound and under guard, and Adam dumped Peake up front with the other five, limping over to where Geoff was sat in a chair, likely scavenged from one of the rooms. Adam sketched a playful salute. 

"Done, Boss Ramsey." He fell into an easy stance, something like relief washing over him as he took in the room. It was done. It was really, finally done. Geoff raised an eyebrow at their appearance.

"Have a good time, boys?" He asked, and both did their best to shrug, wincing at the various injuries that were tugged and pulled. "Well at least you brought him back in… well, mostly one piece. I can see the bruises already forming." Adam snorted and then covered his nose, immediately regretting the move. "Go, the both of you. See Caleb and Leo." Jeremy went with a salute of his own and no argument, but Adam went stubbornly to resume his spot behind Geoff's chair on the right, a spot he'd grown used to in his three months there.

Geoff could tell the other man wasn't going to move, and honestly, he didn't really want to make him. He'd done so well to help this come to fruition, he deserved to see it come to their triumphant end. So he rose to his feet, the whole room silent suddenly, and stalked forward, a thrill going through him when all eyes were on him.

"You guys are fucking idiots." His men and women laughed at the opening, and the Fakehaus crew ducked their heads in shame and embarrassment. "Did you really think you could take us on and win? Really? Idiots, the whole goddamned lot of you." He toed the prone form of Peake before resuming his slow circle, grinning like a predator. He had them now.

"But I'll be brief, because you're not worth my time, and my people are tired and want to be done with you. We can sign an agreement, bring you under us and we'll leave well enough alone, all things considered. Or, you can refuse and I'll let Teufel Hund have his full revenge. It seems he got started upstairs, and I'm sure he'd like nothing more than to finish." The entirety of Fakehaus seemed to freeze in horror as the name Teufel Hund flowed into the room. Everyone knew of him, knew that he popped into the other nations almost seven years ago and quickly became feared and respected. The older members recognized Adam and it was easy enough to put two and two together. 

"But why?! We did nothing to him!"

Geoff looked at the one with curly hair - Joel, his brain supplied - and smirked. "Nothing, you say? You drove him out seven years ago, and in the process made an enemy." 

Adam lurked nearby, fingers on the sheath of his favorite knife, ready to move the minute permission was given.

"But… Matt said he left by choice. It's why we didn't go after him." Joel's voice was quiet, something like horror creeping into his voice even as Adam surged forward, fiery rage in every line of his body.

"By choice?! _By choice?!_ " He bellowed, and collectively they cowered away from him. They had never seen such anger, such rage in him, used to the soft and gentle Adam from years before. "No." Something cold and sharp entering his voice. 

"No, if I had left by choice I would be happily home in Berlin right now. He gave me a bag, that night after the heist, wouldn't even let me in the house and told me to leave. That he didn't want me there anymore. I was useless to you, a liability."

"But we never agreed on that! None of us thought that!" Bruce's voice shot through the room and Adam scowled, turning away from him. 

"Don't bother lying now! What's done is done, and I -" He shook his head and padded away, stopping by Geoff's shoulder when the older man's arm stopped his forward travel. 

"You did excellent tonight, Adam. I'm very pleased." He kept his voice soft enough that only the other man could hear him. "Go see Caleb and Leo, and you and Jeremy have a week off. Enjoy your time, and your payment will be there in the morning." Adam nodded, none of his playfulness there anymore in the face of his sudden exhaustion, and he simply walked away to where the others were, intent for now to simply get patched up and go home with his lover.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jeremy watched Adam with a soft smile, the taller man sprawled on the bed, his bandaged face half hidden in one of the furs that lined the bed. Jeremy's wounds had been superficial enough that liquid stitches and butterfly bandages had been enough to close it, but the cut on Adam's jaw needed traditional stitches, six of them, and his cheek needed three more. Leo had accompanied them home and sedated Adam so his nose could be set and then gave him injectable painkillers, leaving a bottle each of pills for both of them. Jeremy dragged his fingers through Adam's hair, smiling when the other man made a soft contented noise and continued in his half-drugged half-exhausted sleep. 

Nightmares had plagued him near the early morning, the parting words of Bruce and Joel having spread doubts into his mind. He'd been so sure for the last seven years that it had been a concerted effort to oust him, and now there was uncertainty in him. Jeremy groaned as his phone buzzed, a text message from Geoff. Now there was something that Jeremy was eager to tackle.

Now, the thing about Adam was, when he was drunk, it was easy to pull embarrassing confessions from him. Jeremy had used that to his advantage, only to discover that Adam had a huge crush on Geoff. Not that he could blame him, because wow, the man was a looker and great fun to be around when he wasn't in boss mode. It helped that Jeremy had caught Geoff out staring at them together one night in bar. His blushing embarrassment and flailing speech had, quite quickly, given him away.

But that was something to tackle later because there was knocking at the front door. Why was there knocking at their front door, damn it? Grumbling, he planted a kiss in Adam's hair and climbed out of bed, making sure to cover the other man before he left, bare feet silent on the wooden floors. Tug was in the backyard, so whoever it was wasn't a threat, but still. Rude. He swung open the door, eyes going wide when he saw the small basket and box sitting on the step. What the fuck? Carefully he leaned down and peeled back the small blanket. 

"Oh my god," he hissed, staring into the wide blue eyes of a long-haired tabby kitten. A kitten, on the doorstep. Was this the boss's idea of a bonus? He scooped up the kitten, fingers brushing a note. Further investigation revealed that the letter was indeed addressed to Adam. Grunting, he pushed the box inside and left the basket with it there in the entryway, carrying the kitten and letter up the stairs to the bedroom.

He set the letter on Adam's bedside table and climbed in bed, placing the kitten squarely in front of Adam's face. The kitten mewed loudly in protest at being jostled so, and Adam jolted awake, flinching in pain.

"Am I dreaming? Or high?" He garbled out, voice rough with sleep. Jeremy laughed and grabbed his hand, placing it on the kitten's head, smiling broadly when he automatically started scritching the little creature behind the ears, touch gentle.

"Nope. Actual kitten. Found it on the doorstep just now. It came with all of the stuff too. There was a letter and it's on the table next to you." Adam tried to give Jeremy a kiss, but he grimaced with the pain of his stitches and Jeremy chuckled, planting a kiss on his unbruised temple. He took the kitten and turned, setting the wee thing on his chest as he grabbed the letter, opening it and pulling out the heavy stock. After seven years he still recognized the scrawling cursive. James. He almost threw the letter away then and there, but a small voice in the back of his head needled at him and he reluctantly began reading.

It was long, filled with apology after apology and explanations. Matt had been deposed, but not ousted because, unfortunately, he was useful and they needed him to get back on their feet after signing the non-aggression agreement with Fake AH. The kitten was an apology. An apology kitten.

"I got an apology kitten."

"An apology kitten?" 

"I got a goddamned apology kitten." Adam looked into the soft blue eyes of the little cat and felt his heart melt. Oh, he was still furious with them, and he doubted the anger would ever completely go away, but he had to grudgingly admit that a kitten was an easy way to get past his defenses.

"We're keeping it, aren't we?" Jeremy asked, though he already knew the answer. 

"Yes. His name is Marshmallow."

Jeremy simply laughed and lay in bed with Adam and Marshmallow, a hilarious name for a tabby kitten in his opinion, and basked in the wonder of getting to just spend time with his lover when they had nothing to do.

It turned out, however, that Marshmallow was only the beginning of the five others’ ‘Apologize to Adam and Get Back On His Good Side’ Crusade. There were nice clothes, his favorite foods delivered at weird hours while they were working, mods for his guns, more letters and, on one very… special occasion, the head of Antonio Ramirez on a pike in their front lawn. Adam had oscillated between thrilled and annoyed at that one, mainly because the blood and ash had ruined one of his flower patches.

They still came to the bakery, ordered food and offered compliments, and Adam, bless his secretly soft heart, Adam found himself slowly forgiving them. And Adam was different, in a good way, with most of the rage and need for revenge drained out of him. He could still turn Teufel Hund on and off, but there was a new gentleness in his everyday life that Jeremy loved. It wasn't as hidden as it was before, and he liked that.

Adam ended up with two new scars from their takeover of Fakehaus, and his nose ended up a little crooked (it caused him to snore in this tiny, quiet way that Jeremy found absolutely adorable), but Jeremy just loved him all the more. Adam's scars told a story, one that they were all slowly learning as they spent more time in Los Santos while Adam and Geoff hammered out their alliance. Jeremy knew the whip-marks were from just before his twentieth birthday, when he'd saved a kitten from getting hit by a car during a drug deal and Antonio, his old boss, had been furious and lashed him forty times. There was the jagged wound on his stomach on the left side from getting shot the night he met Tug. There were marks on his wrists from where he'd fought in his captivity when he was first brought before Fakehaus. 

Every scar had a memory attached, and Jeremy loved him just the way he was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For all that Adam was slowly, very slowly, rebuilding bridges with most of the members of the Fakehaus crew, he'd had zero intention of ever talking with Matthew Peake again. Unfortunately, Peake had a different plan in mind. In the end, Adam had decided to base them out of Los Santos, where they could help the Crew but still take jobs around the world and Adam could still be close to Jeremy, and word got around quickly that Teufel Hund had made his home in the city. Of course, that would be the night Matt showed up at the bakery when Adam was closing up for the night.

Adam felt that quiet anger in his gut again as the smaller man came forward, though his keen eye noticed the far different disposition he now had. He kept his head bowed and his body relaxed, open, subservient. Whatever the other had done had obviously knocked him down a peg or three.

"Peake," he said coldly, setting aside his broom and hand coming to rest on the handle of the knife he always kept on him. Peake flinched a little but boldly reached for the handgun in the holster at his side. Adam drew his knife but Peake continued in his motions, setting the gun on the table between them. "What's this?" He hissed, voice sharp, something like shock and awe screaming through him when when the man dropped to his knees before him. 

"Finish it. I deserve it. I drove you away because I thought you were getting too close, that we couldn't trust you and you'd turn on us like you turned on Lobos Rojas. So it was easier to just… get rid of you. Save us the trouble of having to hunt down a traitor later." Adam sucked in a breath and then snarled, reaching for the gun, his apparent action and intent obvious. 

But instead of pulling the trigger he slammed the gun into the other man's face, taking great pleasure when he cried and sprawled out in shock of the pain, his blood dripping to the ground. He threw the gun away. "Get up! I said get up!" Matt struggled to his feet and Adam grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him viciously. Matt merely grabbed his arms meekly, neither pulling him closer nor trying to push him away.

"You were scared? _You were scared?!_ Seven years of wondering why I was going to mangle each and every one of you, and you lied to them and sent me away because you were scared. You motherfucker!" He tossed Matt away, pleased when his body crashed into the chairs and table, knocking them all over.

"Afraid I was a traitor. What a crock of shit, Peake. I would have died for you guys, laid my blade into anyone and everyone who stood defiant before you! They knew that! That's why Lawrence and Bruce pushed to let me come along! It's why Spoole pushed to make you take off the fucking chains and stop locking me up!" He crashed into Peake again, wrapping his hands around his throat. Not as tight as last time, but tight enough to make his point.

"I did everything to gain your trust. I didn't mind playing captive, walking around the fucking base with my hands tied and wearing a chain like a fucking animal. I didn't mind giving over all the information you asked for. I didn't even care when you started using me for shit jobs that none of you wanted to do. Lack of trust my ass. What's the real reason, Peake? _Tell me!_ "

_"I was falling in love with you!"_

Adam reeled back, ice flying through his body. In love? Peake had been falling in love… with him? Peake was pulling himself out of the mess of chairs and tables, rubbing away the blood that was on his face. 

"I - I never wanted anyone to get that close. You were too close. You were in too deep, you knew me too well. It was a weakness! I couldn't have it! You'd only been there for a year, I hadn't expected everyone to get so attached! Including me." The last part was a whisper and Adam wrapped his arm around himself, something like despair washing over him.

"Seven years. I swore for seven years I would get my revenge because I thought I'd been thrown away with malicious intent. Betrayed. But it turns out you're just a liar and a coward. Not even just that." He took a breath, rising up to his full height, something like cold determination settling over him. "We're all damned, Peake, because of this line of work, because of the blood on our hands. But who is more damned? The man who turns away a friend and ally in his own cowardice? Or the man who, in the face of that horrible betrayal, turns his knife on others and makes a name for himself. Who repairs the damage of betrayal and tries to become better and brings around him wonderful people. I know my answer, Peake. Do you?" 

Matt just stood there and Adam pointed out the door. "Get out of here, Peake. Get out of here and never come back." Those words, those same words Peake had spoken to Adam that night seven years ago, seemed to pierce the other man better than any knife and he slunk away out of the bakery, leaving Adam standing there.

Jeremy found him there, later that night, sitting on the counter and drinking one of the bottles of rum, face tear-stained and looking lost and exhausted. He levered himself up and made sure to press close, touching from knees to hip and accepting the bottle he was handed. "Feel better?" He asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

"A little, actually," Adam sniffed, voice rough from crying. "It feels… hollow, I guess? Like some purpose I had is gone, like something I've always known is suddenly thrown away. I just..." He trailed off, drinking from the bottle he snatched back.

Jeremy hummed and kicked his legs a little, thinking before he spoke. "You remember what I told you, about your scars?" He asked, and Adam nodded, though he looked confused.

"Yeah."

"I think… I think this is like another scar. One that's not really visible, but you can tell it's there nonetheless, and it'll hurt for a bit and you'll feel like everyone can see it. But I'll love you anyway, and the others will too, and eventually it won't hurt so much. It'll always kinda just… be there, because betrayal leaves marks that last, but in due time it won't matter to you as much."

Adam seemed to take a little comfort in that, and he leaned into Jeremy's frame, setting aside the bottle and taking comfort in the soft touch of his lover's hand in his hair. Eventually Jeremy shuffled the drunk man into the car and drove him home, where he climbed into his bed and surrounded himself with his kitten and his dog, and Jeremy snuggled in as well. He was asleep quickly, but Jeremy lay awake for a while. There was damage there that would never heal in the face of whatever revelations had come to light, but eventually, Adam would be okay. 

Jeremy would make sure of it.

 

_**TBC....** _


End file.
